Aftershocks
by sasha1600
Summary: Sequels to 'Tim’s First Time'. Gibbs just spanked Tim for the first time... now what? Warning: references to spanking; no ‘onscreen’ spanking here.
1. Introduction

**Aftershocks**

**Summary: **Sequels to Tim's First Time. Gibbs just spanked Tim for the first time... now what? **Warning**: references to spanking; no 'onscreen' spanking here.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own 'em, I just play with 'em.

**Disclaimer #2**: In the NCIS canon, Ducky attended Eton. So, his school-day memories in these stories are set there; although the school is real, the events and people described here are the product of my imagination and I mean no disrespect to Etonians past or present.

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A/N: This is a series of interconnected sequels to Tim's First Time and won't make any sense unless you read that first. This begins immediately after that story. There are also references to other stories in my discipline series and to other TV shows/movies but you should be able to follow this even if you don't catch them all.

Thanks to everyone who suggested that I explore Tim's reaction to his 'first time', Gibbs's feelings about having to punish him, and Tony's efforts to help him cope with the experience. Sorry it took me so long to get back to this; RL has been more demanding than my Muse of late, and I wanted to take the time to get this right.

Special thanks to draggon-flye for brainstorming assistance.

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**Warning: These stories continue a detailed exploration of physical and emotional responses to a discipline (i.e. non-sexual) spanking. There is no 'on-screen' spanking, but they contain references to the spanking of adults and recollections by adults of having been spanked as children. There are also passing allusions to BDSM. If any of that is going to bother you, please go read something else. You've been warned.**


	2. Aftershock I: Doctor's Orders

**Aftershock I: Doctor's Orders**

McGee was still sprawled across the conference room table when he heard the door behind him open quietly. He buried his face farther into his crossed arms, blushing furiously at being found sobbing.

'Ah, Timothy. How are you doing, my boy?'

McGee felt Ducky's fingers against his neck as he checked his pulse, and he tried to stifle his crying. The kindly ME was apparently satisfied, mumbling something to himself and ruffling his embarrassed patient's hair.

'I thought you might need these.'

Tim looked up at the sound of something being placed near his head, then pushed himself painfully upright before reaching gratefully for the box of tissues. His ass still hurt like hell, and the simple movement made him wince. He blew his nose several times, choking slightly when a stray sob escaped his determined efforts to pull himself together. He watched while Ducky pulled a handkerchief from his pocket – _only Ducky would still carry an actual handkerchief!_ – and moistened the square of cotton from the bottle of water he'd carried tucked under his arm. McGee accepted the cool, damp cloth and passed it over his tear-streaked face before pressing it against his swollen eyes.

When he emerged a few minutes later, Ducky held out the bottle to him.

'Small sips, Timothy.'

McGee took the bottle and held it to his lips, his eyes searching Ducky's face for the judgement he expected to find there. It was bad enough that he'd almost been responsible for Abby's death, and that he'd finally managed to provoke Gibbs into giving him the first strapping of his life. Now it was also obvious that he couldn't even take his punishment without being reduced to a whimpering mess.

Instead, he saw only concern.

'Right then. Let's get you home.'

'I'm alright, Ducky. You don't have to... I mean, I appreciate your... uh... help... but I can...'

'Timothy. You are in no shape to drive. Now, I am taking you home, and that is final.'

McGee desperately wanted to be left alone but realised that he was not going to win this argument. Sighing deeply, he allowed Ducky to lead him to the parking lot. To his relief, the team's area of the squad room was empty when they passed it. He really did not want to deal with whatever smartass comment Tony would make about 'Probie's first spanking'. And he didn't think he could face Gibbs so soon after being whipped by him.

Standing next to the passenger's seat of the vintage Morgan, McGee paused, dreading the pain that he was sure would accompany any effort to sit down. Seeing his reluctant charge warily eyeing the car seat, Ducky encouraged him kindly. Tim baulked, taking a step backwards and shaking his head.

'Uh, I don't think I can, Ducky. I think it's gonna... well... it's going to hurt... to... uh... sit down.'

'Yes, it is. I imagine you're going to be feeling it for a few days.'

Ducky suppressed a smile at McGee's horrified expression, and allowed him a few moments to process the information.

'Best to just get it over with, Timothy. In you get.'

When McGee hesitated, Ducky continued with a gentle smile, 'I don't think today would be the best time for you to discover the consequences of defying a direct order, lad.'

McGee flushed deeply at the implied threat. He didn't think that Ducky actually would spank him for stalling, but he had to admit that postponing the inevitable wasn't going to make it any easier. Taking a deep breath and gritting his teeth, he stepped into the car, gasping loudly when his ass made contact with the seat.

He was still squirming, trying to brace himself with his hands and feet to keep most of his weight off of his butt, when Ducky slid behind the wheel.

'Seatbelt, Timothy'.

McGee stared, horrified, at the older man, realising that he could not maintain his precarious position of minimal discomfort while he fastened the belt. Ducky continued to prattle on about something, his voice barely registering in McGee's consciousness. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice that his reluctant passenger made no effort to secure his seatbelt, and McGee started to wonder if he'd get away with not moving after all.

'That was not a suggestion, lad.'

The steely tone of Ducky's voice startled McGee and, in his haste to comply, he forgot about the unaccustomed need to minimise contact with his backside. He reached instinctively for the shoulder harness, and the burst of pain the action caused made him cry out in surprise. His face was flushed with embarrassment at the display of weakness as he choked out a quiet 'sorry'.

'There's no need to be embarrassed, Timothy. There is no shame in admitting that you are in pain. And I've no doubt that you have suffered an emotional as well as physical trauma.'

McGee squirmed uncomfortably. He was hurting, confused, embarrassed, and desperate for the quiet solitude he needed to start to deal with the day's events. He didn't particularly want to discuss what had happened to him. And he really didn't want Ducky doing one of his 'psychological autopsies' on the experience.

Ducky, being Ducky, inevitably continued.

'I know full well how painful a thrashing can be, and I expect that Gibbs was quite hard on you, given the circumstances. I'd be surprised indeed if you _weren't_ having difficulty sitting, after a session with his belt. I know I always had great difficulty enduring dinnertime after I'd been punished for some childhood indiscretion and, on a few occasions, school the next day was most unpleasant. I remember one time, during my last year of school before I went away to Eton, when I had taken some money from my mother's purse for a film at the local cinema that I'd been forbidden to see because, in her opinion, it unduly glorified war. It was the first time she spanked me with anything other than her hand, and it was weeks before I could even look at a wooden spoon without shuddering. And only the fear of the tawse kept me at my desk in the morning. In those days, children were expected to sit still and pay attention during lessons, you know; there were none of the 'activity stations' or 'child-centred learning models' that seem to have infested the education system today. More than once, some unfortunate lad who was unable to bear hours on a hard wooden seat without squirming the morning after a particularly severe spanking acquired a red and swollen hand as well, for his fidgeting.'

Tim was unsure what to think about Ducky's reminiscences. He was mildly horrified, and profoundly grateful that he was too young for corporal punishment to have been in use in any of his schools. He had never been in trouble with his teachers, but he was sure he would have spent his entire childhood in abject terror anyway, if there had been any possibility at all of being paddled. It was, at least, a bit reassuring to know that he was not alone in his inability to achieve the unflinching stoicism that he'd imagined was expected. But, on the other hand, it didn't help very much to be told that he was reacting exactly like child.

'Great,' he mumbled, more convinced than ever that he had 'failed' his first serious spanking. 'I can't even handle a ten-year-old's punishment.'

'Nonsense, Timothy. From what I've seen, you've 'handled' it, as you say, perfectly reasonably.'

'I _cried_, Ducky!'

'Oh, for heaven's sake! A spanking is supposed to hurt, and you are supposed to react to it. Being an adult doesn't change that.'

'Yeah, well, it changes how I feel about it...' McGee muttered, before lapsing into silence.

'Ah, I see,' Ducky began, and, stopped at a red light, he stole a sideways glance at his red-faced passenger before continuing. 'Do I detect a touch of embarrassment, not just about admitting that what you call a 'child's punishment' hurt, but about being subject to that punishment in the first place?'

'Sort of. I mean, I know it's not just me... Gibbs... uh... you know. But, seriously... how many adults get _spanked_?!'

'I think Abigail might be better qualified to answer that than I...'

'You know what I mean, Ducky!' Tim croaked, blushing even deeper red. This was so not a conversation he wanted to have with Ducky... in fact, he didn't even want to think about how Ducky even knew to hint at it. He'd played a bit with Abby when they were dating, and he knew that she liked things a lot heavier than what they'd done together... _oh, God, how could she possibly _enjoy_ something like what he'd just been through_?! Horrified, he wrenched his mind away from that train of thought and focused back on what Ducky was saying. Fortunately, the ME had moved on, rambling slightly as was his wont.

'I can, in fact, relate somewhat to what you are feeling, dear boy. It was my final term at Eton – not at all the same thing, of course, but I was at that age when boys like to think of themselves as young _men_, you know. And I was a prefect, so I was used to having a certain authority, and being accorded a degree of respect, both by the other lads and by the teachers. And I was caught smoking with a few of my friends. Yes, yes, a foolish thing, but we didn't know as much about the evils of tobacco in those days, and it was an act of youthful bravado to sneak off for a forbidden cigarette. Unfortunately for me, being found smoking meant an automatic birching. During morning assembly. I practically begged the headmaster to punish me privately, but he told me that the public disgrace was part of the punishment, and meant as a deterrent to the other boys. So there I was, a prefect, with my trousers around my ankles, being held down over the block by two of my favourite teachers while the headmaster thrashed me in front of the entire upper school. I thought I would die from embarrassment, let alone the pain.'

'What happened? I mean, how did you face your classmates, after that?'

'Oh, there was a certain amount of ribbing, to be sure. Especially when I had to discipline some of the younger boys. But, ultimately, it didn't really change how anyone thought of me... if anything, I gained a greater acceptance as one of the lads. And you, dear boy, have nothing to worry about in that department, since Anthony is in no position to say anything about you being punished by Gibbs.'

Tim smiled a little at Ducky's perceptive comment about his real concern.

'No, I guess not. But _I _still have to live with it. Knowing that I... you know... and that I'm not really... well, the person I always thought... I don't know how to explain...'

'You are uncomfortable with the idea of no longer being the good child who has never needed to be punished.'

McGee recognised himself in Ducky's words. He had never been seriously punished, had never done anything to merit significant punishment. He'd always been the quiet, obedient one, had always _seen himself_ in those terms. He was devastated by the memory of being whipped, by the pain he was still feeling, and by the knowledge that he'd never again be able to enjoy the distinction of _not_ having been disciplined by his boss.

'Uh... yeah... I guess it's something like that...'

Ducky smiled kindly and patted him affectionately on the knee.

'I can certainly relate to _that_ feeling. I remember very vividly the first time I was caned at school. I had resolved to avoid ever experiencing the infamous Eton cane, but that was, of course, a completely unreasonable goal. Nonetheless, I was devastated when I heard the dreaded command to report to the headmaster's study. It wasn't just that I was afraid of the pain, although, naturally, I was simply terrified. I was also humiliated to find myself in that position, and very upset by the effect on my self-perception. I knew I deserved it, but I found it very difficult to really believe that I'd _done_ something _to_ deserve it. Childhood mischief didn't carry nearly the same feeling of wrongdoing, and the formality of the situation made the punishment, and the offence that gave rise to it, seem so much more serious. Recovering from that psychological blow took much longer than getting over the physical effects of the experience.'

Despite himself, Tim felt himself being drawn in. He was still a bit uncomfortable with the entire conversation, but he found it oddly reassuring to know that he wasn't doing something wrong, reacting as he was to one of the most traumatic experiences of his life. 'What had you done?' he asked.

'I'd cheated on a homework assignment.'

McGee turned his head to stare, open-mouthed, at the older man.

'Well, actually, I'd helped one of the other boys in my dormitory to cheat on a homework assignment. The poor boy was struggling, and he knew he'd be punished if he got another failing grade. In desperation, he asked if he could copy my work. I felt sorry for him. I knew intellectually that it was not allowed, but it didn't _feel_ wrong at the time. And it was a set of maths problems, so I foolishly thought that there'd be no way for anyone to know that he'd copied my paper, since there was no personalising element to distinguish one right answer from another, as there would be in an essay or something of that nature.'

McGee almost laughed at the obvious problem with that logic.

'But if you both had the same _wrong _answer...'

'Exactly! Anyway, it was discovered and instead of one of us being punished for failing, we were both punished much more severely for cheating.'

'But...'

'And rightly so, I might add. Oh, I certainly didn't enjoy it at the time, but I'm grateful that my upbringing was in the hands of people who cared enough about me not to "spare the rod," as they say.'

McGee pondered that comment for a few minutes, during which Ducky, sensing Tim's need to work through what he'd said, was uncharacteristically quiet. After a while, the ME prodded gently, 'What's troubling you?'

'I'm just... surprised... I guess... that you... uh... approve... of... well... this.'

'Why on earth wouldn't I approve?'

'You're a doctor... aren't you supposed to have a problem with someone deliberately causing this much pain?'

'It's "do no _harm_," Timothy. And I assure you, you haven't been harmed. Mere _pain_ is not a problem. Indeed, the practice of medicine often requires the infliction of pain to achieve some greater good. A surgeon wielding a scalpel is certainly going to cause a great deal of pain, as is a doctor setting a dislocated shoulder. And a bone marrow transplant is exceedingly painful for the donor as well as for the patient. Every young medical student has to learn to accept that he will have to cause pain in order to cause healing...'

'Uh... ok... but I'm not really seeing the healing...' Tim muttered, cutting off Ducky's monologue just as they pulled up in front of his building.

'Healing the _conscience_ is a perfectly legitimate purpose, my boy. And I promise you that appropriately severe punishment is the very best cure for guilt. Now then, would you like to be alone, or shall I stay for a while?'

McGee managed a trace of a smile as he answered, 'I think I need some time to think, Ducky. But, thank you for the offer. And the.. uh... pep-talk.'

'Not at all, lad, not at all. And do think about what I just said, won't you?'

Tim struggled out of the car, finding the effort almost as painful as getting in.

'Uh, sure. Thanks again. Uh, bye.'

Finally on his feet, he shut the car door gently on the avuncular older man and turned towards the apartment entrance, very much looking forward to spending the rest of the evening face down on his bed.


	3. Aftershock II: Brotherly Love

**Aftershock II: Brotherly Love**

McGee stretched out face-down on his bed, wishing that he were athletic enough to find it worthwhile to keep an icepack in the freezer. He'd pawed half-heartedly through the frozen dinners he kept there – with his job, it definitely paid to have something fast and effortless on hand – and decided that he really should invest in a couple of gel packs, in case of on-the-job injury. He'd finally found a bag of frozen peas he was willing to sacrifice, then gingerly stripped off his pants. Now, settled on his stomach, he carefully manoeuvred the peas onto his burning backside, sighing in delight at the momentary relief.

He wished he could just put the experience behind him, the way Tony always seemed to. But he knew he wouldn't be able to think about anything other than the day's events. He'd always been the type to obsess about his mistakes, to spend hours dwelling on what he should have done differently, imagining different scenarios and outcomes. As much as he _didn't _want to relive his screw-up in the evidence garage and the whipping that had followed it, he knew that any effort to distract himself from the memory wouldn't work for very long. Especially since his ass was providing a reminder that was pretty hard to ignore.

His methodical, mathematical mind quickly sorted what he was feeling into discrete compartments.

The dominant feeling was, of course, physical pain. Being whipped by Gibbs had hurt like hell. The belt had stung fiercely, and the burning, throbbing pain had grown as the spanking went on for what felt like years but was probably only about a minute. And, despite the makeshift icepack, he still felt like his butt was on fire, and even the thought of sitting down again was unbearable.

But, it he were really honest with himself, it hadn't been as bad as he'd expected it to be. He'd been sure he was facing nauseating, black-out-inducing agony. But Tony had been right. Gibbs hadn't given him more than he could handle. It had hurt, and he couldn't take it without crying out, but he could take it.

He was also feeling completely mortified. Despite Ducky's assurances that his crying wasn't unreasonable under the circumstances, he still felt like he should have been able to take his punishment with less fuss. He was a grown man, and a trained federal agent. He'd chosen a career where, every day, there was a chance he'd be injured, or shot, or killed... he might not be the macho tough-guy type, but he wasn't exactly a complete wimp, either. Yet he'd been so afraid of what was going to happen that he'd thrown up before he even made it to the conference room. He'd whimpered his way through the spanking, then sobbed onto the table until the kindly ME had come to fetch him and take him home. And he knew there was no way he would have been able to stay still and take the repeated lashes of Gibbs's belt if his boss hadn't been holding him down. He felt weak and childish and utterly humiliated.

He was also deeply ashamed about having been in that position in the first place. He'd never before behaved in a way to earn such a serious punishment and he felt no pride about the rite of passage he'd just been through. He was devastated about disappointing his mentor and showing himself unworthy of his trust. He knew on a rational level that Gibbs didn't hold his agents' mistakes against them forever; Tony wouldn't have lasted a week on his team if there were no second chances. But he was having a hard time really believing that things would ever go back to the way they had been, and he didn't know how he could stand to see the lack of confidence, the unspoken reprimand, that he expected to find in his boss's eyes from now on. He was determined to work as hard as he had to, to prove to Gibbs that he'd never act so irresponsibly ever again.

Despite the physical pain and emotional anguish, he wasn't feeling anger or resentment, and that surprised him a little. It was strange, wasn't it, not to feel some kind of hostility towards someone who had inflicted suffering? But all his loathing was self-directed, and while he definitely had issues about the fact that he'd been whipped, none of them seemed to be about Gibbs's role in the proceedings. He realised with a start that he'd accepted his boss's discipline as naturally as he'd accepted punishment from his parents when he was younger. He felt his face flush with heat, feeling self-conscious even in the privacy of his own home about hero-worshipping his boss. _Just great_, he thought with a groan, _I don't have a problem with the fact that my boss just spanked me, but I do have a problem with the fact that I don't have a problem with it._

He was also surprised that he was no longer feeling sick about his actions that afternoon. He didn't really understand how he could feel awful about the general idea of behaving so badly that he deserved to be whipped for it, but not feel bad about what he'd actually done, but there was no doubt that his conscience had stopped yelling at him that he'd almost killed Abby through his recklessness. It was like the little voice inside his head had decided that he'd been punished enough and that it could shut up now. That must be what Ducky meant, he realised, when he said that punishment cured guilt.

But before he could think any more about it, he heard a key turning in his front door, followed by Tony's voice calling out his name. Cursing Gibbs's paranoid insistence that team members exchange keys in case of injury or emergency, he buried his face in his pillow, not wanting to deal with whatever teasing Tony was planning to inflict.

A few seconds later, he heard his voice again, much closer this time.

'Hey, McGee. I brought dinner. Oh, don't tell me... you don't seriously... you've got a bag of _peas_ on your butt? I've got something for you that works much better than half-thawed veggies, Probie. Here. Get some of this on, and come eat.'

McGee felt something land silently on the bed next to him, and the now warm and rather soggy 'icepack' was snatched away. Curiosity winning out, he turned his head and opened his eyes. He reached out, pulling the squeeze-tube closer and flipping it over to read the label.

'Uh, Tony? This says it's for sunburn.'

'What? You expect them to put on the label, "Can also be used when your boss spanks you"? Trust me. It helps.'

Tim looked closer at the tube, and saw that it contained a topical anaesthetic and promised to numb the skin while soothing irritation, redness and minor inflammation. Quickly recognising that that did sound like an attractive prospect, he carefully manoeuvred his way off of the bed and into the bathroom.

As he eased his boxers over his hips, he realised that he hadn't actually seen the damage to his butt. Deciding that he didn't want to look, he smeared some of the cream onto his fingertips and reached back, blindly trying to spread it around without actually touching his tender skin any more than he absolutely had to. After a few moments, however, curiosity won out and he turned his back to the mirror on the door and craned his neck to see his reflection.

He was astonished by how little visible evidence there was of his ordeal. His butt was still glowing red and there were the beginnings of a few purplish bruises, but it didn't look nearly as bad as he'd expected it would. He'd been sure there would be much more dramatic welts, and slightly worried that the skin had been broken and dreading having to ask Ducky to check for signs of infection. He now felt rather foolish; of course Gibbs wouldn't take it so far that he'd actually be injured. And he was even more embarrassed about his response to the pain; there didn't seem to be nearly enough damage to justify his reaction.

He was startled out of his contemplation by Tony's shouted suggestion that he hurry up before the food got cold, and quickly finished applying the cream. It started to do its job, soothing the worst of the burning. By the time he joined Tony in the kitchen, he felt somewhat better.

Tony had already set out the various take-out packages on the counter. The smell of burgers and fries made McGee realise that he was hungry, and he headed towards the food.

'I figured we could just eat here,' Tony began with a smirk, passing him a paper-wrapped burger. The peas were sitting on the counter where Tony had dropped them, a pool of greenish water slowly oozing from one corner of the bag where the seam had split open. 'That way, you don't have to sit down.'

'Uh, thanks,' Tim managed to mutter, turning beet red again at the allusion to _why_ he didn't want to sit down at the moment.

'Hey, relax, Probie. I'm not here to give you a hard time. I just figured you could use the company.'

Tony proceeded to cram a huge bite of hamburger into his mouth, chewing it while he ripped open several packets of ketchup and squeezed the contents onto his fries.

'Yeah... you can help me celebrate the end of my career...' Tim muttered. He understood now what is meant by the expression 'emotional rollercoaster'... a few minutes ago, he had just about worked himself past being embarrassed and to the point where he was resolving to try harder and do better and redeem himself in his boss's eyes... now, he was back to being utterly humiliated, and wondering how he'd ever face Gibbs again.

Tony swallowed too quickly, almost choking in the process.

'What the hell are you talking about, McGee?'

'You think I can just go back to work, after what happened today, and act like nothing happened? Gibbs is never going to trust me again! He probably hates me, after what I did to Abby.'

'Gibbs doesn't hate you...'

'And how am I supposed to face him again, after what I did? After I couldn't take it?'

'What are you...'

'After I cried? Gibbs, a _Marine_, is really going to want me on his team now? And even if he doesn't fire me, I can't spend all day sitting across from him, remembering that he _spanked_ me!'

McGee finally seemed to run out of breath and stood there, panting slightly.

'You done? Good. Now listen to me.' Tony seemed to revert to his 'team leader' voice, holding Tim's attention and effectively keeping him from resuming his panicked rambling as he continued, 'Gibbs does not _hate_ you. If he didn't want you on his team, he would have fired you today, or at the very least made Jenny transfer you to a different team. The fact that he spanked you should tell you that he cares enough about you to deal with your screw-ups himself, and in a way that _protects you_ from the consequences of official sanctions. Got that?'

Tim nodded, wide-eyed, trying to process the information. It was nothing that he didn't _know_, but in his current state he was having a hard time _believing_ it.

'And as for the rest of it, I screw up all the time, and Gibbs punishes me all the time, and I can count on one hand the number of times I _didn't_ yell and cry before he finished with me. It doesn't matter. It's not going to change what he thinks of you, or how he treats you. And if you let it change how you think of him, then you're an idiot.'

Tim flinched, surprised by the head-slap. For a moment he just stared open-mouthed at Tony, overwhelmed by the idea of the carefree senior agent crying when Gibbs spanked him, by the suggestion that Gibbs had done him a favour by whipping him, by the promise that life would go on as usual after this cataclysm... it was just too much to take in all at once.

Then, to Tony's surprise, he laughed.

'You've got a funny idea of a pep-talk, Tony!' he gasped while, finally, unwrapping the burger Tony had given him earlier.

Shaking his head, Tony clapped him on the back.

'Well, it seems to have worked.'

The two men ate in silence for a few minutes.

'Did you mean it, Tony?'

'Mean what, McGee?'

'That Gibbs is going to be able to trust me again, after...'

'Of course I meant it. Don't you remember when you were a kid, when you did something wrong? And you knew that your parents still loved you, and forgave you?'

Tony felt a bit uncomfortable taking the conversation in that direction... he _didn't_ have that kind of 'happy families' memory from his own childhood, but he figured that McGee _would_.

Tim bit his lip and nodded.

'But... it's not the same, is it? I mean, Gibbs doesn't _have_ to...'

'Sure it is, McGee. That's how punishment works. You screw up. You get spanked. Dad forgives you. You stop feeling guilty and forgive yourself. You move on. Hopefully you don't do the same thing again.'

Tim smiled a bit at that.

'Ducky told me basically the same thing... of course, it took him much longer to say it...'

Tony laughed, and stole several of Tim's fries, having already finished his own.

'Well, there you go.'

'But... Gibbs isn't exactly 'Dad', is he? I mean...'

'Oh, c'mon, McGee! He's more Dad-like than my father ever was.'

'Yeah... but...'

Tim wasn't sure how to point out that Tony's childhood was hardly the standard by which to judge paternal behaviour.

'Seriously, Tim. The team... we're closer than most families. Our lives are in each other's hands every day. We spend nearly every waking minute together when we're on a big case, and a lot of the sleeping ones, sometimes. If you don't see that there's a bond there that means a lot more than the average working relationship, then you really are an idiot. We're family.'

Tony punctuated the last two words by poking Tim in the chest with a soggy fry.

'Uh...'

'And Gibbs is the leader, the teacher, the role-model, the protector, and the disciplinarian. He's even the nurturer, in his own weird way.'

'Yeah, but...'

'You want to tell me that that's not the definition of 'Dad' in your book?'

'I have a father, Tony.'

'No, you have _two_. Consider yourself lucky.'

Tony seemed to consider the subject closed. He reached into the paper bag that had held the food, and pulled out two large cups, handing one to Tim.

McGee took it, still struggling with Tony's interpretation of the team's relationship. He could easily see how Tony could see Gibbs as a father-substitute... hell, anyone looking at the pair of them would think they _were_ father and son. He just didn't see how he fit into the picture.

For one thing, he had a family. A real one. One that he had recently put before his job, the team, and Gibbs. And Gibbs was nothing like his father, but at the same time wasn't the embodiment of something he wished he had but didn't, like he was for Tony. Gibbs was a mentor of sorts, a boss who scared the tar out of him most days, and someone whose opinion mattered greatly to him. But he wasn't 'Dad'.

And Gibbs definitely didn't see him as a son. He'd always been a bit jealous of the easy affection between Gibbs and Tony, and had been delighted when Gibbs had seemed to start warming up to him. But there was a world of difference between feeling like he'd finally really been accepted as part of the team, and the kind of relationship Tony had with their boss. And he harboured no illusions that he'd eventually have the same thing himself; Gibbs naturally would see the athletic former cop as a kindred spirit... a computer nerd who wrote detective stories in his spare time would not arouse 'that's my boy!' sentiments in the gruff ex-Marine.

And, unfortunately, Tony's whole argument about Gibbs being able to trust him again depended on the father-figure analogy. Without the unconditional and unwavering bond between parent and child that Tony thought they had with Gibbs, there was no reason for him to forgive Tim, to take a chance on trusting him again. The emotional rollercoaster plummeted to new depths, as Tim morosely concluded that he either had to accept the 'Dad' theory, or give up any hope of regaining his boss's confidence.

He filed that dilemma away as yet another issue to dwell on after Tony left, and forced himself to focus back on his colleague's words. Tony was, predictably, talking about some movie. No, make that movies. Something about great scenes where someone who isn't really a father acts like a father... apparently Tony, having decided that the 'Gibbs is Dad' point had been established, was now trying to convince him that this was not an unusual dynamic.

Recognising that Tony was going to ramble for a while, Tim decided to just let him talk and brought the plastic straw to his lips. He sucked experimentally on it, expecting soda of some description. To his surprise, he had to suck quite hard to get anything at all, and suddenly found himself with a mouth full of... ice cream?

His face must have registered his confusion, because Tony broke off his summary of some plotline.

'What's the matter, McGee? You don't like milkshakes?'

'Uh, yeah, I do. A lot, actually. I was just surprised.'

'Well, after I saw Ducky drop you off, I went into that burger place on your corner to grab the food, and when I realised that they did milkshakes, I had to get them. I brought Kate ice cream the first time that Gibbs spanked her, and we talked... I'm not sure that doing something twice is enough to make it a tradition, but I thought it would be kinda cool to bring you ice cream, too, your first time.'

Tim nodded, not really sure how to reply to that comment. He was moved that Tony would think of something so touching.

Then, it hit him.

'First' time implied that there would be more than one.

And Tony was still talking.

'...the first time is always the hardest. At least next time you'll know what to expect.'

Tim paled, his eyes growing wide with horror. _Next time_?! He'd been so busy dealing with this time that the possibility of another whipping hadn't yet occurred to him.

Tony continued, oblivious to his friend's reaction.

'...and I doubt you'll manage to do anything that's worse in his eyes than almost killing his favourite, so this is probably as bad as it's gonna get. And you know you can handle that, so...'

_I can't do it again. There's just no way I can go through this again. And... omigawd... how am I going to be able to... I'll be a nervous wreck... and I'll screw up _because_ I'll be so afraid of screwing up... _

'Of course, I was starting to think that Gibbs had decided _not_ to spank you, for some reason. If _I_ had left Abby alone when that stalker was out to get her, I would have been kneeling at my desk for a month, and not because Gibbs decided that that was supposed to be my punishment! And that thing with your sister... Anyway, I figured that the boss thought you were too much of a McGeek to respond well to a sore butt or something. But now... well... he's obviously gotten over whatever problem he had with spanking you, so you should probably expect to be back in the conference room with him the next time you...'

_I wasn't sure I'd be able to face Gibbs _before, _now I know I won't be able to... knowing that he might do this to me _again?

Tony finally stopped talking and looked up.

'Hey... are you ok there?'

Not being capable of coherent speech, Tim didn't reply.

'You just realised that it's likely to happen again, didn't you?'

To his credit, Tony wasn't laughing.

Tim managed a half nod.

'Sorry, man... I wasn't trying to freak you out.'

Tim nodded again, still unable to speak.

'Hey, c'mon... there's no point worrying about it now. And you're gonna be alright...'

Tim finally recovered his voice.

'I don't think so, Tony... I really don't think I can do this again...'

'Ok, tell you what. Give it a week. See how you feel when it isn't something that just happened, after you've had a chance to deal with it.'

'And then what? Nothing's gonna change in a week... what am I supposed to do if I still don't think I can...'

'Then you talk to Gibbs. You tell him that you understand what he's trying to do, why he punishes people the way he does, but that you don't think it's right for you.'

Tim laughed.

'Yeah, like _that's _gonna work with Gibbs. I might as well just hand him my resignation...'

'No, seriously... I think it will be ok. He's not trying to make your life a living hell, McGee. He's trying to teach you a lesson and keep your record clean. If he knows it really bothers you that much, he's not going to keep doing it.'

'I am _not_ going to tell Gibbs that I can't handle being spanked!'

'Ok, then I'll...'

'Don't you dare! Tony... you can't...'

'Ok! I won't tell him. But I still think _you_ should.'

Tony paused, not sure he wanted to continue.

'I did, once... not about everything, but I asked him not to use a switch on me again. I told him that it was too hard for me, emotionally. And he was ok with that. And he never did, again.'

'Really?'

'Yeah. He even offered to find some other way of punishing me, before I managed to explain that it was just the switch that I had a problem with. So, think about it, ok? If you don't feel better about it next week, talk to him about it.'

'I don't know... I'll... uh... I'll think about it.'

Tony busied himself stuffing the debris from their meal into the bag it had come in. It had been a long time since he'd thought about that conversation with Gibbs... he didn't like thinking about it, and he'd certainly never talked about it before now. Tim seemed to need the reassurance, though. But now, the guilt that had taken him so long to bury rushed to the forefront of his mind again.

He'd regretted lying to Gibbs even before he'd finished the conversation. But once the words were out of his mouth, he didn't know how to take them back. And when Gibbs had told him that he was _proud_ of him for trusting him enough to confide in him... he just couldn't find the strength to admit that he'd made it up, that he was using Gibbs's concern about him to manipulate him into not using the particularly feared implement on him again.

The guilt had eaten at him for weeks. He'd had a hard time hiding it; the acting skills that had allowed him to pull it off in the first place were the only thing keeping him from falling apart every time he met Gibbs's eyes. More than once, he'd been tempted to just come clean about it, but he knew that Gibbs would give him the worst whipping of his life, probably with a switch, for a stunt like that. And, despite what he'd just told McGee, he wasn't entirely convinced that Gibbs's capacity for forgiveness was completely limitless, and he was terrified that this would be too big for them to get past. He'd learned to live with the guilt, because he knew he wouldn't be able to live with the knowledge that he'd thrown away the best thing that had ever happened to him by betraying his mentor's trust so devastatingly.

Especially since, in retrospect, what he'd been trying to accomplish with the lie wasn't that big a deal. Yes, he was terrified of the prospect of another switching. But it probably wasn't all that likely, even if he hadn't said anything to Gibbs. The offence that had given rise to his only encounter with a switch was particularly egregious – a reckless prank that had almost gotten McGee killed. Gibbs wasn't likely to repeat such a severe whipping for anything trivial, so it shouldn't have been too difficult to avoid, even for Tony. And even if he did something serious enough to deserve it, it would still be unlikely unless they happened to be somewhere where a switch would be readily available; a hard strapping would be much more probable. Deceiving Gibbs to obtain a promise that he wouldn't do something that he almost certainly wouldn't do anyway seemed really stupid.

Even now, nearly two years later, he felt a wave of gut-wrenching guilt at the memory of what he'd done.

He shoved the guilt to the back of his mind, slamming the door on it and locking it in. It was far too late now to do anything about it; he would just have to continue to live with it and, hopefully, not let it escape into his conscious thoughts too often.

'Tony?'

'Yeah?' Tony dragged his attention back to the present.

'Is it really easier? The next time, I mean?'

'Yeah, Tim, it is. It doesn't hurt any less. But it's a lot easier to take, emotionally. You know what's coming, so it's a different kind of fear than worrying about the unknown. And submitting to Gibbs like that... the first time, it's a bit like stepping off a cliff, hoping there's a lake at the bottom. After that... it's not as hard to accept it from him again... I'm not sure I can explain why, but you'll see what I mean.'

Tim nodded, clearly still unsure about the idea.

'I don't know... watching Gibbs take off his belt, knowing that he's going to use it on me... and now, knowing what it's going to feel like...'

Tony didn't respond, and avoided Tim's eyes by scrunching the top of the bag shut and walking it over to the trash can in the corner of the kitchen.

'I think that was the worst moment for me... seeing Gibbs's hand on his buckle. Does _that_ get any easier?'

'I don't know.'

'What do you mean, you don't know? Doesn't it bother you, having to _watch_ him...'

'I never do.'

'What? You close your eyes or something? Maybe I should try that...'

'No... I mean... Gibbs has never taken off his belt and spanked me with it.'

Tony had absolutely no idea how, but Gibbs somehow seemed to know not to try using a belt with him. His claim to have a problem with switches may have been invented, but his anxiety about belts was genuine. Just the sound of one being pulled roughly from its loops was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. When he had first realised that Gibbs intended to spank him when he screwed up too seriously, he'd been terrified that he'd have a full-blown panic attack in front of his boss. But, eventually, he had realised that Gibbs seemed willing to use just about anything _except_ a belt to spank him; he still wondered occasionally about the man's apparent psychic abilities, but they'd never discussed the matter.

Tim felt a surge of anger, mixed with outrage and betrayal, and responded, loudly, to Tony's declaration that he'd never experienced what Tim had just gone through.

'WHAT?!'

He'd been so sure that Gibbs whipped Tony somewhat regularly. He _knew_ he'd spanked him at least once, that time Tony had almost killed him by putting a snake in his room during a case on a Marine base, and he'd figured from the way Tony acted sometimes, after he'd done something particularly stupid and Gibbs had dragged him off somewhere, that it had happened again. Rather often, actually. And Tony had just been telling him how it meant that Gibbs thought of him like a son, that it was easier the second time... how dare he play the voice of authority, if he'd never experienced it himself?

And a big part of the reason why he'd accepted the spanking in the first place was that he'd believed it was how Gibbs normally treated Tony in similar circumstances. He didn't want Gibbs to think that he was weaker, more fearful, than Tony. And he'd be damned if he'd let Tony think that he couldn't handle as much as him. It hadn't even occurred to him that Gibbs might punish him more harshly than Tony, that what he'd endured was anything other than the 'usual' Gibbs punishment.

He was furious at both Tony and Gibbs, but only Tony was standing right in front of him, so he bore the brunt of Tim's wrath.

'YOU PATRONISING SON OF A BITCH!'

Tim hurled his milkshake at him, missing by more than a foot. It sailed over Tony's head and crashed against the wall behind him; an explosion of strawberry ice cream showered both men and poured down the wall in a sticky pink trail.

'Hey!'

'HOW CAN YOU STAND THERE AND TELL ME THAT IT WILL BE EASIER...'

'McGee!'

'...NEXT TIME, WHEN YOU'VE NEVER EVEN HAD TO DO IT ONCE? AND THAT CRAP ABOUT GIBBS...'

'Tim!'

'...BEING 'DAD' TO THE TEAM, AND SPANKING US LIKE UNRULY...'

'TIM!'

McGee grabbed the now thoroughly thawed bag of peas from the counter and threw it, more successfully, at Tony. The seam that had been leaking earlier gave out under the force of the impact and soggy green mush splattered across Tony's shirt, the counter, and the fridge.

'...CHILDREN WHEN WE SCREW UP, BECAUSE HE CARES ABOUT US? AND NOW YOU'RE TELLING ME...'

'CALM DOWN!'

'...THAT HE'S NEVER SPANKED YOU?!'

Tim was almost in tears, he was so angry, and so hurt.

'GET THE HELL OUT!'

'No.'

'What?'

'No. I'm not telling you that he's never spanked me.'

'But you said...'

'That he's never spanked me with his belt. Not that he's never spanked me.'

'And that's supposed to make me feel better? I have to deal with being _whipped_ with his _belt_ and you get, what? A slap upside the head?'

Tony's patience ran out and he snapped back, more angrily than he intended.

'No, McGee. I get the strap.'

'What?!'

'The _strap_, McGee. Gibbs has one of those old straps that they used to use in schools. He keeps it in his desk. And, let me tell you, that thing hurts _at least_ as much as any belt. So come down off your high horse and STOP THROWING THINGS AT ME!'

Tony didn't mention that Gibbs also used a paddle with some regularity; he didn't want to share the story of having to make the damn thing himself.

His anger deflating quickly, Tim looked sheepishly at the mess surrounding them.

'Uh... sorry, Tony... I guess I over-reacted a bit...'

'A _bit_?'

'Ok, a lot.'

Tony looked down at his chest.

'You got something I can wear that doesn't make me look like I lost a food fight with an entire nursery school?'

Tim burst into laughter.

'Sure. Hang on.'

He headed towards his bedroom, and returned wearing an ice cream-free shirt himself and carrying clean NCIS sweats for Tony.

'Gibbs really has a _strap_?'

'Yeah. This old leather thing. He told me once that he got it from Mike Franks when he retired.'

'Then why do you think he used his belt, with me?'

'I don't know, but I think you're lucky that he did.'

'I don't feel very lucky...'

'Trust me, Tim. You don't want him using the strap on you.'

There was a moment's silence while Tim half-heartedly swabbed at the fridge with some paper towels and tried to digest the latest information, while Tony stripped off his food-splattered clothing with the casualness of someone accustomed to locker-rooms and communal showers, and pulled on the almost-one-size-fits-all standard issue gym clothes.

'Tony...'

'Yeah?'

'If Gibbs got the strap from Franks, does that mean... that he... uh... _got_ the strap from Franks?'

'Yeah, I think it does.'

'Wow. That's... uh... wow.'

'Yeah.'

Tony grabbed a handful of the towels and attacked a splodge of milkshake that was spreading threateningly towards an innocent throw-rug.

'S'ok, Tony. You don't have to help me clean up... I'm the one who threw it.'

'Yeah, you are. But next time _I_ have a temper tantrum, you can help me clean up afterwards.'

'Temper tantrum?'

'You got a better term for chucking a milkshake at my head?'

'Uh, no... guess not.'

They worked in silence for a while, then Tim started giggling again.

'What's so funny, Probie?'

'Didn't Gibbs say something one time about food fights and peas?'

Tony chuckled.

'Yeah. But his were gonna be in cans.'

A few minutes later, Tony crammed the last of the sodden towels into the overflowing trashcan.

'You gonna be ok, now, Tim?'

'Yeah. I'm fine.'

''kay. I'll head out then. See you in the morning.'

'Yeah. And... uh... thanks. For everything.'

'No problem, Probie. G'night.'

''Night.'

Tim checked that the door locked behind his departing friend, then headed back to his bedroom. The distraction that Tony had provided had taken his mind off the pain, but now his ass was demanding his attention again. He reapplied the sunburn cream, making a mental note to buy more, along with real ice packs; if this was going to happen again, next time, he'd be prepared.

He stretched out on his stomach again, wondering if he'd be able to sleep. Again, he replayed the day's events in his head, but this time in light of Tony's interpretation.

Even though he didn't share Tony's perception of Gibbs as a substitute father, he did understand what he meant about their boss being more than just someone they worked for. And what he was feeling now went beyond the physical experience of being whipped by his boss. It was even more than an ordinary emotional response. He felt a deeper, more profound connection – something that he couldn't really put into words. He had trusted Gibbs absolutely, submitted himself entirely to his authority, accepted pain at his hands. Gibbs had told him when he'd transferred from Norfolk, 'you belong to me now'; somehow, that had taken on a more real meaning this afternoon. It was like sharing such an intense experience had strengthened the bond between them in ways that he didn't yet fully understand, but which he knew would change his relationship with his boss forever.

Sometime around midnight, having mentally worked his way through every detail multiple times, the metaphorical light-bulb finally went off above his head.

Tim realised with a start that he felt rather like he imagined the 'warrior apprentices' of his various fandoms did towards their mentors. He was like a padawan, learning his craft from an experienced Jedi, or a young Jaffa, apprenticed to a great warrior, or one of the pages in the service of a knight in that MMORPG he played, when he found the time. There was the same exchange of protection and loyalty, the same duty to learn, the same profound respect and absolute obedience.

Yes, Tim decided, the analogy definitely worked. Gibbs even was responsible for most of his weapons training and hand-to-hand fighting skills. Of course, he'd learned the basics at FLETC, but it was Gibbs who had insisted that he know more than the basics, that he become a better marksman. And it had been Gibbs who had helped him live with the knowledge that he had killed. He enjoyed a moment's amusement at the mental image of Gibbs with Yoda's ears.

Recovering quickly from his fit of the giggles, Tim shook his head sadly at the realisation that Gibbs wouldn't share his reaction. He probably saw whipping him as simply part of the job, something he'd done countless times before with other subordinates. And, of course, Gibbs, who couldn't stand to be called 'Sir', would not respond well to being addressed as 'Master'.

Still, the model provided a frame of reference that helped him understand and cope with what he was feeling. He could accept Tony's assumption that forgiveness would be forthcoming; even though he didn't believe that Gibbs would ever see him as a son, he could agree that he might see him as a sort of protégé in a professional sense. And, having cleared that hurdle, it was easier to imagine that he might be able to face his boss again. He was still dreading work the next day, but for the first time he allowed himself to think that it might, just maybe, be ok.


	4. Aftershock III: House Call

**Aftershock III: House Call**

Gibbs looked up from his boat at the sound of footsteps on his basement stairs.

'How's he doing, Ducky?'

'He's fine, Jethro. It would take more than your belt to damage him.'

'I didn't mean physically.'

'Neither did I.'

Gibbs jerked his head in a movement that wasn't quite either a nod or a shake, and turned back to the boat. Ducky let him work in silence for a long moment before continuing.

'It's not like you to second-guess yourself, Jethro.'

'I'm not second-guessing myself, Ducky. If I had it to do over, I'd do the same thing. And I'll do it again, if I have to.'

'But?'

Gibbs didn't answer at first. He took a slow sip from the mug of coffee that Ducky suspected was spiked with more than a little bourbon, trying to act as if he weren't stalling for time.

'You want a drink, Duck?'

'No, thank you. I shan't stay long. I need to rescue Mother's nurse before the poor woman resigns.'

Gibbs took another sip before finally answering the question still hanging in the air.

'It's just... harder... with McGee. Than with Tony.'

'Because Timothy isn't able to take it quietly, and you can see just how much you are hurting him? I know when I was a prefect, and was expected to take responsibility for disciplining the younger boys, it was always easier with the ones who managed to appear unaffected, and very difficult to continue spanking a lad who was crying out in fear, and pain...'

'Ah, hell, Ducky... I don't think Tony's done anything quietly in his life!'

Ducky smiled wryly at that.

'Nah... it's just that Tony is more... not 'defiant', really... more... undaunted? I know I can reduce him to tears and an hour later he'll be back making smartass comments and trying to convince me that the case is just like some movie. It's just physical pain, for him. With McGee, it was like his whole world had just fallen apart... he was like a puppy that just got kicked or something.'

'His world _has_ just fallen apart, Jethro. His whole life, punishment has been something that happens to other people. He's struggling to understand what it means about himself, that he's now the kind of person who has done something to merit a thrashing. He hasn't even begun to deal with how he feels about being punished, much less how he feels about being punished_ by you_.'

'I thought you said he's ok?'

'He _is_, Jethro. He's reacting exactly as he should to his first serious punishment. He's a resilient young man and is perfectly capable of dealing with the emotional turmoil he is feeling right now. A restless night contemplating the nature of guilt, punishment and absolution won't do him any harm.'

Gibbs nodded thoughtfully. He knew that Tim had never been whipped, and on some level he'd known that he'd never really misbehaved, either. But it was only this afternoon that Gibbs realised that the younger man was also basically clueless about how punishment was supposed to work: you screw up, you get punished, you move on. He hoped that he was able to figure it out, especially the part about moving on; he'd hate to see McGee spiral into an obsessive cycle of self-recrimination that ultimately would end with another 'conversation' with his belt. He was about to ask Ducky what he'd said to him, when the ME continued.

'He's also having some difficulty with the idea of physical discipline. He's certain that you'll think less of him for his reaction to it. And I'm afraid he sees it as a child's punishment, and is concerned that you see him as one.'

'Did you tell him I've spanked _you_?'

'No. I didn't. I considered it. But I don't think Timothy is ready to understand why anyone would _ask_ to be punished.'

Gibbs smiled in agreement with that.

'You needn't worry about him. He's rather older than most people are when they first have to deal with such issues, but what he's going through right now is a perfectly healthy process. But I didn't come here to discuss young Timothy; I came to see how _you_ were doing.

'Ah, I'm fine, Ducky.'

'Mmm-hmmm.'

'C'mon, Duck... I'm not the one who got whipped...'

'Not physically, maybe. But you definitely suffered an emotional blow or six. It's not often that you ask me to check up on someone you've just spanked. And you've never shown so much obvious concern for Tony after a whipping, and I know how you feel about him.'

'Tony reminds me of myself, Duck. I know he'll be ok, without the coddling.'

'And Timothy?'

There was a long pause before Gibbs answered.

'Kelly. He reminds me of Kelly. That 'I'm sorry, Daddy' look. McGee had the same expression. He was trying so hard to look brave, but he was terrified, and just as upset about letting me down as he was about what was going to happen to him. Just like Kelly always was.'

Gibbs paused and took another swig from his mug before continuing quietly, 'I only had to spank her a couple of times, Duck. The first time, I think I cried more than she did.'

'Yes, well, parenting is not for the faint of heart.'

'Aw, hell, Ducky. Shannon did most of the work. I was away too much...'

'I was referring to your two _sons_, Jethro.' Seeing Gibbs start to open his mouth, Ducky continued quickly, 'And don't you dare try to tell me you don't see those boys as your own. Your 'Gunnery Sergeant glare' might work on Tony, but it won't work on me.'

'McGee has a father, Duck. For that matter, so does DiNozzo.'

Ducky snorted.

'Not one worthy of the title, he doesn't. And while Timothy might not need you in the same way that Tony does, he is just as devoted to you as a role-model and mentor. Both of those boys would walk through fire to gain your approval, and you bloody well know it. And, more importantly, you would do anything in your power for either of them, including putting them over your knee to teach them any of life's lessons that they've missed along the way. So don't tell me that you're not a father to them!'

'I've spanked a lot of subordinates over the years, Ducky. It doesn't make me anything other than an old-fashioned hard-ass CO.'

'Perhaps that's all it was with your young Marines, Jethro, but you know full well that it's much more than that with your team now.'

'Ducky...'

'If this afternoon meant nothing more than a Gunny disciplining a green young Marine for some infraction, then why are you down here working that board into oblivion and drowning your own emotions in that bottle of gut-rot you call whiskey?'

Gibbs sighed and turned away. Ducky was right, of course.

He'd long since accepted his more than slightly paternal affection for his senior field agent. Tony was so much like himself – lacking in the discipline instilled by years in the Corps, but still... And he recognised in Tony the same recklessness, which he knew from personal experience to require reining in by a strong hand. He'd moved gradually from seeing the younger man as yet another in a long line of trainees in need of unconventional incentives to keep them from getting themselves killed, to thinking that, if he'd had a son, he'd probably be a lot like Tony, to knowing that the younger man had gained a place in his life that none of his protégés had come close to before. And he knew, too, that Tony looked up to him with a sort of filial devotion, at least partly the result of his strained relationship with his father and his desperate craving for paternal affection and guidance. The closest they'd come to discussing it was during the long evening when he'd made Tony handcraft a paddle to be used on him, but neither of them was the sort of man who needed to talk about his emotions. And neither of them had admitted their feelings to anyone else, although, apparently, it was perfectly obvious, at least to Ducky.

His relationship with McGee was more complicated. He'd felt almost immediate respect for McGee's abilities and enthusiasm as a member of his team, and had been as protective, and demanding, of him as he was of all his people. But McGee had a good relationship with his own family, so he wasn't as emotionally needy. Insecure at times, and a bit too keen for positive reinforcement, sure, but not desperate for someone to take an interest in him, like Tony. Plus he didn't remind Gibbs so much of himself, so he didn't provoke a 'my son would be like that' reaction. If anything, Gibbs and McGee would probably have driven each other crazy during the latter's teenage years. He would have loved any child of his, of course, but Gibbs knew himself well enough to know that he would have had a hard time relating to a quiet, bookish, unathletic boy who felt sick at the mere sight of a boat. But now... Ducky was right. Tim had become as much a surrogate son in his eyes as Tony was, although he was sure that he didn't know it. And this afternoon, holding him down, making him endure what had to be one of the worst experiences of his life... he knew without a doubt that it was the right response to the younger man's actions, but it had still been a painful few minutes for Gibbs as well as for Tim.

'Dammit, Duck...'

The ME recognised the concession in Gibbs's voice and knew that he'd get no more explicit acknowledgement of the point. He chuckled and shook his head, then changed the subject.

'Well, as I said, you needn't worry about Timothy. I saw Tony lurking outside his apartment, waiting for me to leave. He really is quite good at the 'big brother' role, although I've no doubt that neither of them would ever admit it. I'm sure by now they're comparing notes on their experiences with your belt.'

'Yeah, well, Tony won't have much to contribute to that conversation. I've never used my belt on him.'

'Oh, come now, Jethro. You're not telling me that you've never whipped him? I've seen the way he moves after some of your little chats!'

'Never with my belt, Duck. Mike Franks gave me his strap when he retired. When he needs it, I use that. Most of the time, I use... well, I had Tony make a paddle.'

Ducky snorted. 'And you say you're not a father to that boy,' he muttered under his breath before continuing more loudly. 'Why?'

'I thought it would be good for him...'

'No, no. Why do you not use your belt with Tony? I know you did with Timothy.'

'I didn't think it would be a good idea. I got the impression... I'm not sure exactly what his father did to him, Ducky, but if his reaction to the _sight_ of a belt is anything to go by, the last thing he needs is for me to actually use one on him.'

'Good Lord, Jethro! Are you telling me that he reacted so badly to one of your punishments that you...'

'No! Thankfully. I didn't even suggest it...'

'He actually confided in you that he had a particular aversion to being whipped with a belt?

''Course not. Although, later, he did come to me to ask that I not use a switch on him.' _After I already had... _'But, with the belt, I figured it out.'

'How on earth...?'

'About six months after Tony started working for me, we were driving back from a crime scene, and came upon an accident on the highway. One of the cars had flipped over. A couple of Good Samaritans had already got everyone out, which was a good thing because the car exploded about fifteen seconds after we pulled over to help. Anyway, one of the passengers was badly injured. A young woman, bleeding heavily from a thigh wound where she'd been cut by a piece of glass from one of the windows...'

'Oh, Jethro, a tourniquet should have been applied to that immediately...'

'Know that, Duck...'

'Surely you know that from your combat training? You need to stem the bleeding from that kind of injury...'

'Uh-huh...'

'Ordinarily, of course, a tourniquet should be avoided, since it risks damaging the limb itself and for most bleeding such drastic measures really are not necessary. But the blood loss from damage to the femoral artery is very dangerous...'

'Ducky! I did. Ok?'

'Oh! I do apologise, Jethro. I should have known that you'd...'

'_The point_ of the story is that, as I was pulling off my belt to use it as a tourniquet, I looked up at DiNozzo to tell him to call 911 again, and use the federal agent card to get the ambulance there faster. I don't know if it was the sight of my hand on my buckle, or the sound of the belt being pulled off, but he looked absolutely panic-stricken for a moment. White as a ghost. Eyes terrified. I know an anxiety attack when I see one. I thought he was going to pass out on me, and I knew it wasn't the blood 'cuz I'd seen him handle worse on the job.'

'Oh, dear.'

'Yeah. It was just for a second or two, and he didn't say anything, so I let him think I hadn't noticed. He's never said much about his childhood, but I assumed... anyway... I resolved that he'd never see me pulling off my belt to use on him. I might not have spanked him at all, if that had happened a few weeks earlier. It was purely by chance that I didn't take a belt to him the first time he almost got himself killed. The one I was wearing was braided, and had a metal tip, so I grabbed a tie-down from the back of the jeep we were in, and used that. He obviously wasn't traumatised by the experience so, when he reacted to the belt, I hoped it was just that that was the trigger. I kept an eye on him, and, well...'

'I'd say you handled it exactly right, Jethro. It very likely was a visceral reaction specifically to you removing your belt. It's not unusual for a specific sight, or sound, or even smell, to provoke the kind of reaction you described. For instance, veterans often have flashbacks to their combat experiences if they hear a car backfire, as I'm sure you know. I doubt Tony's condition is quite that severe, but it certainly is possible that you inadvertently caused him to remember some childhood trauma. But I've seen no evidence of him having any problem being spanked by you, so it's clearly not physical punishment in general that is an issue for him. And he obviously needs the discipline you've been giving him. Whatever emotional scars his father left on him shouldn't be allowed to get in the way of your relationship with that boy.'

Gibbs nodded, reaching for his mug again, expecting Ducky to continue for some time.

'In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he were able to handle you using your belt, now that the bond between you two is stronger. He probably trusts you enough now not to associate it with his father's treatment of him.'

Gibbs swallowed hastily.

'I don't know, Ducky... I don't think I'm going to be testing that theory any time soon. I don't want to risk...'

Ducky interrupted, almost tempted to take a step backwards as Gibbs's eyes darkened dangerously, as if he had suggested pushing Tony's limits as a psychological experiment.

'No, of course not.'

Gibbs visibly relaxed.

'Anyway, I'm sure he's sharing his accumulated wisdom with our Timothy, and helping him come to terms with today's events. He may not know what your belt feels like, but he certainly has enough experience with a sore backside to be of some use to your newest miscreant.'

Gibbs smirked.

'That's all I need... those two teaming up...'

Ducky laughed.

'Oh, I doubt very much if he can corrupt Timothy enough to lead him into very much mischief. Now, if Abigail gets involved, things might become a wee bit more interesting around the office...'

Gibbs inwardly cringed at the prospect of a collaborative effort involving all three 'kids'.

'Anyhow, Jethro, I must be going. Do take care, won't you?'

Ducky headed for the stairs. He was halfway up before he turned and called back to Gibbs, who was refilling his now empty coffee mug with straight bourbon.

'And, if you _must_ drink yourself into a stupor tonight, would you _please_ leave that bloody boat alone? I have no desire to be back here stitching you up after you try to sever your own hand with a chisel or whatever it was you were doing last time...'

Gibbs's only reply was to raise his mug in a silent salute, acknowledging his friend's concern.

'Jethro, if I have to treat you again for a self-inflicted injury born of your own stupidity, _I_ will spank _you_...'


	5. Aftershock IV: The Morning After

**Aftershock IV: The Morning After**

Gibbs sat down at his desk and glanced across at McGee. The younger man was shifting uncomfortably and appeared to still be in considerable pain. That wasn't surprising; it was little more than twelve hours since Gibbs had taken his belt to him, giving him the first serious spanking of his life. He was probably also a little skittish this morning. Embarrassed. Unsure of himself. Possibly resentful.

Gibbs barked out an order to Tony, but kept his eyes fixed on McGee, seeing him jump at the sound of his voice. Yep. Skittish.

Gibbs checked his email, sipping occasionally from the coffee he'd brought with him. Tony flipped through the file of available cases, occasionally reading one out, but not finding anything that would justify the involvement of one of the major case teams. McGee was trying to look busy on his computer, but Gibbs knew that there wasn't really anything for him to be doing. Every minute or so, the younger man squirmed in his seat, his face comically distorted by his not-very-successful effort at expressionlessness.

After a few minutes, Gibbs stood up and crossed the bullpen. Tony looked up in surprise when his boss stepped behind his desk and hauled open the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. Gibbs pulled out a pillow, then, standing upright, kicked the drawer shut with a thunderous crash while simultaneously smacking Tony, hard, across the back of the head.

'Ow! Boss? What was that for?'

'Not offering this to him yourself.'

Gibbs dropped the pillow on McGee's desk. Tim flushed a deep crimson, mortified that his discomfort had been so apparent to his boss.

'Alright. Get out the cold cases.'

Ignoring the groans of displeasure about the tedious assignment, Gibbs headed for the Director's office.

X X X

McGee settled himself on the soft, fluffy pillow. His butt still hurt; short of levitating, there wasn't much he could do about the fact that sitting at his desk meant that most of his weight was on the one part of his anatomy where he least wanted it. But the pillow definitely helped.

Tony looked up from the game of Tetris that he'd started when Gibbs had left.

'Better, Probie?'

'I know I'm a wimp, Tony. You don't have to rub it in.'

'Hey! I'm the one who keeps the damn pillow at the office for exactly that reason, McGee!'

'Oh. Right. Uh... sorry.' There was a pause before McGee continued quietly, 'Iguessit'sonlyGibbswhothinksI'mawimp.'

Tony shook his head and went back to his game. If McGee couldn't recognise Gibbs's 'dad' mode for what it was, there wasn't much he could say to make him see it. Only the probie would take offence at such an obvious effort to make him feel like part of the 'family'.

X X X

Gibbs returned from the Director's office, stopped briefly at his desk to pick up his gun, and headed for the elevator. He was halfway there when he called over his shoulder, 'You're with me, Elf Lord. I need you to translate.'

McGee looked up in surprise, astonished that Gibbs seemed prepared to trust him, to rely on him, before he'd had any sort of chance to prove himself again. And the affectionate nickname was one he hadn't expected to hear cross his boss's lips anytime soon, if ever again. It reminded him instantly of his realisation the night before that he felt almost like an apprentice to a master warrior in some fantasy universe... and his master had just summoned him. He leapt to his feet, gathering his things together instinctively. But his initial elation quickly evaporated when he realised that he was going to be alone with his mentor, when he still had no idea how he was going to face him after showing such a monumental lack of good sense.

Gibbs kept walking, allowing McGee time to sputter self-consciously about the prospect of being alone with the man who had whipped him, confident that his agent would pull himself together in time to grab his gear and meet him at the elevator. As predicted, Tim skidded inside just as the doors were closing.

They had barely started moving when Gibbs flipped the 'stop' switch. Tim looked at him in surprise, unconsciously taking a step back and turning slightly so his butt was safely against a wall.

'Don't start second-guessing yourself, Tim. You're more likely to make a mistake that way, than if you trust your instincts.'

'Uh... Boss? How did...' McGee was beet red at the thought that his boss had figured out his determination to never disappoint him again.

'Don't ever play poker, McGee.'

McGee seemed to turn an even deeper shade of red.

'You screwed up. I punished you for it. Hopefully you learned something. This is the part where you move on. That's why I spanked you, Tim; to help you do that.'

'I... uh... I know, Boss.'

'Good.'

'And... uh... I'll try.'

'Don't _try_, Tim. Do it.'

McGee nodded, biting the insides of his cheeks and desperately trying to banish the mental image of Yoda-eared Gibbs.

'Something funny, McGee?'

'No, Boss. Uh... what do you need me to translate?'

Gibbs hit the button again, starting the elevator moving.

'There's a sailor in the psych ward at Bethesda who says he has information about some kind of planned attack on one of our ships. The Director suggested that you might be able to understand the world he seems to be living in. Apparently he thinks he's something called a "Jedi Knight"'. We need to figure out if he really does have intelligence we can use, or if it's all part of his...McGee? Are you ok?'


End file.
